


Bright Sounds of Loud Fire

by psychepomegranates



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amputation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Champion Shiro (Voltron), Cybernetics, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Non-consensual body modifications, Suicidal Thoughts, The Champion, implants and other enhancements, it deserves it’s own tag from the amount of times I’ve used it, neural implants, vision linking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychepomegranates/pseuds/psychepomegranates
Summary: The Blade of Marmora have figured out a new way to spy on Haggar’s latest experiments:The Champion.”Just—“ Shiro shuddered out a deep breath and licked his dry lips. “I want to see.”The air felt stagnant and heavy at the prolonged silence. After months of Keith invading Shiro’s privacy in the most intimate of ways, after admitting to the violation, could he not offer the same to Shiro at least once?





	1. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An oppurutniy arises and a plan is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my pieces for the Sheith Big Bang! Circa 2018~
> 
> Big shout out to my artist Lijau! Who I will link to their fabulous art later on.
> 
> And also very big thanks to Roromir and spinsters_grave forthe beta help, who I will also link once I get cooperation from my tablet!

 

Ulaz wasn’t sure, but he was either getting transferred, or his identity and mission have been compromised. He couldn’t imagine how it could be, as he was always cautious to cover his tracks, but nobody was perfect. There were enough shady and shrewd characters aboard Sendak’s fleet and within the Empire in general, either looking to tear another down to better themselves or had ordered someone else to keep tabs on others to further their own agenda.  
  
He was summoned after a long, grueling and tiresome session of dealing with victims (he would say patients if victim weren’t a more accurate term), the prisoners that were captured and forced to fight in the arena for the Galra Empire’s entertainment. He tried to mask the snarl of disgust as he closed up another suture.  
  
While the death rate amongst the prisoners was high, they did try to mend the ones that, as his coworkers would say, “had put up a good fight” in order for them to live and fight another day. It was repulsive and for the ones that were too weak or lacked any impressive prowess? On Sendak’s fleet, they call the rest not good enough “fodder.” Saved for the beasts that they let rampage and tear through the fragile beings, devoured by both the jaws of the beasts and the eyes of the roaring crowd.  
  
He was interrupted by a Druid before being able to attend to the next victim. Solemn and still, the Druid stated that he was being relieved of his duties as his presence was required elsewhere.  
  
He could only thank his diligence when he didn’t react, even as apprehension nestled itself in the nooks and crannies of his bones. But he felt a slight stiffness to his movements as he nodded in acquiescence and followed the Druid out of his medical suite.  
  
Adrenaline filtered steadily through his blood as he followed the Druid down various hallways. The pathways in the sector of the ship soon began to look unfamiliar and he soon realized he was treading through areas where he hadn't yet gained clearance. His only option was to contemplate his fate, wondering whether or not he would live to see whatever was at the end of this path.  
  
“You’ll be working in this sector from now on,” informed the Druid, tilting their head towards whatever laid behind the door.  
  
Ulaz pressed his closed fist to his chest, head bowed. “I thank you for the honor.”  
  
“Do not thank me.” The Druid stated plainly, they reached out and placed their hand over the access pad. It took less than a tick for it to scan. When the light flaredyellow, the doors slid open, and Ulaz followed the Druid inside.  
  
To Ulaz’s surprise, it wasn’t empty like he had anticipated. Two others— medical staff like him judging by their uniforms— stood in immediate attention when the Druid slithered deeper in the room. “You must thank the High Priestess Haggar for the honor.” They intoned, only regarding the other Galrans when they murmured, “vrepit sa,” with bowed heads and fists on their chest.  
  
Despite his confusion, he got over his hesitance and did the same.  
  
“The High Priestess has acknowledged all of your skills with medicine. She has summoned you three to be a part of a team for a classified project she is working on.” Ulaz straightened his shoulders upon finally hearing the reason for this summons.  
  
“What kind of project?” Ulaz asked, keeping his tone as even as he could to not give way to his wariness.  
  
The Druid remained silent, the mask hiding any possible reactions. Their pause lasted longer than a tick. “Currently classified.” They eventually relented and Ulaz could only give one firm nod.  
  
They observed Ulaz for a moment before changing their focus to the other two medics. When he spoke, however, his focus did not linger on any particular individual. “You will begin effective today. I shall supervise. You are only required to follow instructions given by the High Priestess and myself. The project shall be here shortly.”  
  
Suspicion rose and he knew his stance was stiff and unnatural, but he couldn’t seem to push down the unease he felt as he went over all the possibilities of what this “project” could be.  
  
It was after Ulaz had muttered, “vrepit sa,” once more along with the others did he finally understand the position he had been placed in.  
  
A shout of struggle followed by grunts were heard from outside the door. A rough and garbled cry, “where are you taking me?!” Had the fuzz on the back of his neck puff out from stress.  
  
He recognized that voice.  
  
Prisoner 117-9875.  
  
The new Champion. 

* * *

 

Keith sighed in relief as he stretched out on the cot, enjoying the burn he felt from the pull of taut muscles and when his bones popped and cracked.  
  
“Reckless.” A voice grumbled from behind Keith, the irritation was apparent but affection was there, he could tell even without looking as he was laid out on his stomach.  
  
Keith shut his eyes closed as he rested his head on his folded arms, letting out a short yawn. “It’s not that bad, Kinra.”  
  
“This is the second time you’ve damaged your heel,” he quipped. Keith would bet all of his GAC that Kinra was frowning with his snaggletooth piercing his lip.  
  
Keith hid his smirk within his arms. “My foot was unlucky enough to not make it through with the rest of my body when the cargo gate closed.” He shifted, making himself comfortable on the medical cot. “Blame it on Rana. She tripped me, I swear.”  
  
“Oh, and why would she do that?”  
  
“Probably had something to do with me calling her a slow Oranean Darsul.”  
  
Kinra snorted and without remorse sprayed analgesic gel over Keith’s exposed ankle, ignoring his hissing. “Seems to me that between Rana and your gimp foot, you’re the one who’s an Oranean Darsul.”  
  
“ _Fuck,_ that’s cold.”  
  
“Don’t use those Earthling terms with me.”  
  
“I’ll say whatever the _fuck_ I want, Kinra.”  
  
Keith rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard Kinra and several others adapting the strange language into their own vocabulary. Really, it’s one of the few things his mother managed to bring back during her stint on the primitive, distant planet she called ‘Earth.’ Well, inappropriate alien language, a stylish red jacket, a video about a bizarre dancing ritual Earthling’s called “jazzercise”, and of course Keith himself.  
  
All he had to claim from the planet was what his mother had smuggled with her: a device that played music and movies; his mother had to modify the simplistic contraption’s battery supply in order to get it to function but there were extensive amounts of songs and films that were supposedly a gift from his father. Keith had seen and heard them all three, maybe four times over. And over time, it was how he taught himself to speak some words of the language (even if his pronunciation was never quite like the characters from the films). The fouler words, his mother learned from his father, something their species usually used when upset for whatever reason. At least, that’s how she explained it. Keith supposed it wasn't too strange; Galrans had similar terms themselves. What was strange was how the Earthling words became oddly popular amongst his fellow Blade members. All of them were equally fascinated by a language that hadn’t been influenced by the Galra and adapted to Gal.  
  
Human. That was the name of his father’s species, that was what built up half of Keith. All the stark differences he had against other Galra, came from his father, his human side. He'd never been to Earth, and had come to the realization early on that he probably never would. It was a planet so far removed from the scopes of the Galran empire that they could live in ignorant peace, his mother had told him.  
  
Keith also knew that it meant he’d never meet his father. For many years, that had unsettled him, but eventually with time and training, he was able to make peace with that fact. Therefore, Keith stuck to the small piece of Earth given to him. Films with blue skies, vast oceans with horrid storms, and stunning mountains. Colorful deserts similar to the ones that could have been found on Daibazaal. Thousands of other creatures coexisting with humans, ranging from minuscule to gigantic, all sorts of textures and shapes—they were all so beautiful.  
  
“Please tell me you didn’t fall asleep on me.” Keith winced at the sudden tightening around his ankles.  
  
“A little warning next time, Kini.”  
  
Kinra’s gloved hand ran up and down Keith’s twitching limb. “Sorry, Kiki,” he cooed. Keith knew he was mocking him. “This is delicate work. You’ve ruined such a fine detailed piece of machinery, you brute.”  
  
Keith snorted. “Yeah, yeah I hear you. Just fix it, will ya?”  
  
“The lack of care and respect is appalling.”  
  
This wasn’t the first time Keith had work done on his heels. He had both of them replaced after they were severely damaged from his trials before becoming an official member of the Blade of Marmora.  
  
It had maybe been a few decaphoebs ago, right around his initial phase of puberty, or close to it. During his trials, he was deposited on a hostile planet. There was no explanation on what he had to do in order to complete the trial, no tasks or instructions, and he was left to survive on his own. He’d hunted for his food and searched for water, and built a meager shelter to protect from wild beasts that could all too easily make him prey, all the while wondering what the hell he was really supposed to do. As movements and phoebs went by, he grew weary and angry. He’d been essentially betrayed by his leader, Kolivan, for abandoning him here, and especially his mother for allowing it. He couldn’t help but feel as though it were a punishment for something he didn’t know he did wrong. Was it his mixed blood? Did they see him as weak? Did they think it was better to leave him alone, to slowly wither and rot on this forsaken planet?  
  
But Keith refused to die. Even if he was left alone for an entire year.  
  
Learning how to survive without any guidance, his determination never wavered. If they saw him as weak, he would continue to live as proof of his strength. As the moons changed and seasons shifted from one to another, so did Keith. He was cruel yet merciful in his hunts, quick to kill but patient in the wait.  
  
He was violent but efficient in his resolve.  
  
He learned which plants to pick for healing and which were poison; he could track and strike down with stealth and precision even the deadliest of beasts.  
  
The planet was designed to make him fail, Keith eventually learned.  
  
His suit was designed to release chemicals into his body, which were only triggered when in contact with a specific plant found on the planet. Fever, fatigue, hallucinations. The impending loom of death brought out a new form of terror in Keith.  
  
He had lost all sense and composure, afraid for his own mortality. Afraid to die alone. As he spiraled down, he didn’t take caution to one of his own traps. The jaws of steel had mangled his feet and rendered him immobile.  
  
He laid there crippled for more than a quintant. Injured, tired, and hungry while reliving all the moments from the past decaphoeb. Trying to establish some sort of meaning, an understanding behind this grueling challenge. He couldn’t grasp what it was he was supposed to gain from this experience.  
  
Knowledge or death.  
  
He didn’t believe he gained any sort of knowledge save for knowing he didn’t want to die.  
  
The knife that had been entrusted to him by his mother remained in his hand even as it grew to its full size and potential. Within a varga, exhausted and on the cusp of death, the Blade picked him up and took him back.  
  
Keith scowled to himself at the memory. It may have been two decaphoebs since his trials, but he still had mixed feelings. He may have gained a multitude of skills, honing his instincts that couldn’t be taught as naturally even with practiced training, but the trauma left behind, the resentment that festered in him like that burning fever the planet’s winter gave him, was something that wouldn’t easily go away. Those feelings were real and genuine and he couldn’t seem to pass it off as part of his training or a lesson.  
  
Even now, he still felt like he always had to prove his worth to others as the youngest member. He still had so much to learn. Keith scoffed at that. He knew his worth and he would never let anyone deny the place in the Blade’s ranks that he was always working for. Not after what he endured. Even if a part of him doubted he truly earned the right.  
  
He pushed the memory aside. He hated being reminded of his trial as much as he hated that frustrating feeling he’d get whenever he wondered whether or not he rightfully passed. His prosthetic heel would always be a reminder of that, but he wasn't going to dwell on in any longer. Now, when his heel seized up, he felt spasms from plastic tendons instead of the real ones he should have had.  
  
“Are you okay?” Kinra asked. He sounded distant, more focused on his task than the creature it belonged to. Yet his gentle touch remained as he continued with the maintenance.  
  
Keith grunted. “Just a little tug. Nothing to worry about.”  
  
Kinra grunted a noncommittal sound. “Good. ‘M almost done here.”  
  
The clanging of tools was almost soothing, it should’ve been disconcerting considering he wasn’t able to feel the entirety of his foot as the mechanic worked on it. “Is it that bad?”  
  
“I assumed it was going to be worse.” Kinra remarked in wry amusement. “Especially since you were able to to keep moving on this thing. You shouldn’t overexert yourself.” He replaced the long thick tool in his hand for another slimmer and sharper one.  
  
“I wasn’t really in the position to stop,” Keith pointed out.  
  
“I’m amazed you were able to run at all.”  
  
Keith shrugged. Yeah, his foot was busted, but it wasn’t thoroughly smashed. He could still move and he honestly didn’t really think about the pain when the adrenaline was roaring at him to keep going. It was a high-stakes operation, and while losing a member was a serious blow for their organization, so was taking the risk to go back for another member and increasing the possibility of losing two members. If he was fully incapable of moving, the others would have left him behind and that was the reality of it.  
  
It also helped that this time, it was only one of his feet.  
  
“Not my time of death yet, Kini,” Keith joked.  
  
Kinra snorted. “You sure are one resilient bastard.”  
  
Their banter continued while Kinra finished the maintenance on his foot. The skin rengen-injection tingled as he was told to sit and wait for at least eighty percent coverage.  
  
Kinra had his back to Keith as he out his tools away. “By the way, did you finish your report for the Captain?” He turned to Keith with a sheepish look on his face, his snaggletooth more prominent than before. “Sorry, Kolivan asked me to inquire, since apparently you’re not responding to his messages.”  
  
Keith rolled his eyes. He already knew that. Kolivan overloaded his system with reminders to turn in his report and for a mandatory debrief after he received his maintenance.  
  
He groaned. Wasn't it enough that he was injured! Their leader could wait a varga or two before sending a multitude of messages demanding his presence.  
  
“No need to tell me. He’s been sending me a ping every ten doboshes. He won’t give me a break.”  
  
Kinra shrugged, indifferent about Keith's complaints. “Perhaps he would’ve if you had responded back to him.”  
  
Keith swung his feet back and forth despite Kinra’s protest. “Yeah, well, I’ve been a little busy if you haven’t noticed. Being hurt and all.”  
  
Kinra did a quick throw of his wrench, aimed at Keith’s head which Keith easily caught. “Oh, please,” he began. “You’ve been here for nearly a varga doing absolutely nothing. You’ve had plenty of time.”  
  
“Which is how I got my report done.” The sly glint in his eyes had Kinra rolling his. Keith leaned back, using his hands to support behind him. A haze covered his eyes for barely a tick before his attention was brought back to Kinra. “And sent.” He grinned.  
  
Kinra shook his head. “Well you’re free to go. I’m sure the Captain will be pinging you any tick now to go over the report you just sent him.”  
  
As if Kinra willed it himself, a stretch of words milled across Keith’s vision.  
  
_If your maintenance is completed, a meeting will be held on the bridge._  
  
The manic glee beaming from Kinra’s smile must’ve meant that there was a grimace on his.  
  
Kinra waggled his brows. “Did I call it?”  
  
“Yeah,” Keith sighed. “You called it.”  
  
Kinra laughed at Keith’s weary expression. “May knowledge be ever in your favor and not death.”  
  
Keith scowled. “Don’t quote from movies you don’t even understand.” He hopped off the cot and made his way to the exit. “Besides, that isn’t what they say.”  
  
“Hush. Let me interpret alien culture as I see fit.”  
  
“That isn’t how it works, but whatever,” he waved him off. He wasn’t a disrespectful asshole, so he shouted after himself, “Thanks for the good work!”  
  
Kinra called out, “Don’t _fuck_ up your heels again, Kiki!”  
  
Keith sent him a rude gesture he’d learned from his movies  before slipping on his mask to hide his smile. 

* * *

 

“Prisoner 117-9875,” was the first thing told to Keith when he stepped into the bridge.  
  
Keith took a glance around the room when he noticed the other occupants; they all wore their masks but it wasn’t that hard to identify who was who. Aside from Kolivan stood Antok. He had one of the largest and burliest builds amongst the members. On the other side was Vrek; Keith was only able to tell because of  the shape of her feet, a little more rounded and stocky compared to most Galrans. Directly across from him was Rana and he wanted to groan at the realization. After the whole Oranean Darsul bit, he really didn’t want to deal with her. His foot got busted because of that! She always got so competitive with him, he never understood why. Next to her, however, was Regris and that made being stuck in this meeting a lot more bearable, they were so easy and chill to work with. Keith would admit that Regris was definitely one of his favorite partners.  
  
“Fascinating,” Keith deadpanned, but remained in an upright posture instead of jutting his hip to the side like he wanted to. He needed to reign in the attitude. He had to have some modicum of respect. Especially for their leader.  
  
Besides, from the looks of things, this wasn’t going to be about the last mission or his injury. He shouldn’t draw too much attention to himself. As long as he remained quiet and focused, it wouldn’t be brought up at all, which Keith preferred.  
  
A holo-screen was pulled up, with the same prisoner number as well as a medical history with a bunch of footnotes at the end.  
  
“We recently received word from Ulaz. He has been transferred from the medical staff designated to the prisoners on Sendak’s fleet, to a chosen team of Haggar’s choosing for a very specific project.”  
  
Keith perked up at that. An intel report from Ulaz? It was fairly soon for one. His reports tended to be extensive but seldom. Given his position, he had a harder time accessing any sort of communication hub. But it gave him the opportunity to gather information on the types of aliens they’ve been capturing, what new experimental research they’re conducting, and any new drugs techniques and equipment they’re testing on the prisoners.  
  
And the moment they’ve all been waiting for: a chance to get a closer look at what exactly happens behinds Haggar’s experiments.  
  
The information he sent had the prisoner’s number but no photo identification. A short bullet list of information regarding the prisoner: Male*, adult*, bipedal, slave to the Empire as of three phoebs, name of race is unknown, species of a primitive planet from a Kahn area—  
  
Keith’s focused narrowed in at that. Kahn areas were parts of the universe that the Galran Empire have yet to explore but didn’t have immediate intentions to either. Typically because there wasn’t much to explore in the area (more stars than planets, or too many uninhabitable planets and not enough living thriving ones, or gas planets, places such as these were generally worthless). But what would the Empire have been doing in a Kahn area in the first place and if the species came from a primitive planet why even bother to capture? They haven’t received any reports of the Empire making moves to such areas.  
  
Vrek stalked forward closer to the holo-screens. “Ulaz didn’t provide a lot of information regarding this prisoner,” she noted. “What’s so special about this one that has gotten him transferred?”  
  
Kolivan reached out to scroll further down the screen. “This prisoner, despite his origins, has been highly regaled for his impressive prowess in combat. It seems that Haggar has taken a keen interest in that.”  
  
“He defeated the infamous Gladiator, Myzax. On his first run at the arena.” Vrek read aloud from the screen. “That is impressive.”  
  
“Myzax comes from a species that while yes, are very capable fighters, aren’t aggressive in nature, only when threatened. We all know that,” stated Antok as he glanced past Kolivan shoulders to regard Vrek.  
  
“We also know that Myzax didn’t earn the title ‘the Gladiator’ simply because he felt threatened.” Vrek raised her chin in challenge. “He was removed from Ulaz’s turn of patients because he was to be put into whatever program Haggar had planned for him. It’s obvious that they did something to him.”  
  
“Both are true. But Myzax isn’t our concern here.” Kolivan nodded at the screen in front of him. “This prisoner has gained the title, ‘the Champion,’ as he remains undefeated to this day.”  
  
Keith whistled lowly, only realizing his actions after five masks were all looking at him. He crossed his arms, throwing his head back in nonchalance. “What? From a species of a Kahn area I wouldn’t expect that of him.”  
  
“Keith, your species comes from a Kahn area.” Rana tutted, earningherself a heated glare from Keith, even if she would be unable to see it.  
  
“Watch it, Darsul.” Satisfaction thrummed in his veins as he watched Rana visibly bristle.  
  
“Enough.” Kolivan snapped. The deep, guttural warning behind the word had everyone snapping back to attention.  “Focus. Haggar has set her sights on the Champion and, fortunately for us, has called for Ulaz to partake in her research. This will give us further insight to the types of experiments she’s been practicing for decaphoebs.”  
  
There was a ‘however’ coming after that sentence, Keith could feel it.  
  
“However, he will have limited access to the actual research as he is there to tend to any of the prisoner’s wounds, injuries, reactions to any of their tests, administer any experimental drugs, things of that nature.”  
  
Vrek nodded in understanding, “he won’t know exactly what they’ve done to him, he will only be able to track the changes.”  
  
“Precisely. This team has been assembled for us to come up with a way to gain further knowledge while we have the opportunity but doing so in a way that doesn’t compromise Ulaz’s precarious situation.”  
  
“Anything Ulaz attempts will be risky,” Rana said. “Aside from acquiring samples of whatever they have him inject the Champion with, there isn’t much he’d be able to do.”  
  
“He’s going to need to hack into Haggar’s databases, which would be near impossible for him to get access to at his clearance level.” Regris opined.  
  
“If he’s able to simply get a sample, like I said, he can study it on his own!”  
  
“And what if they don’t inject him with anything? Haggar is known as a witch for reason, surely she’s going to be doing more than that to him.”  
  
Soon enough, the discussion grew over different tactics and strategies that would allow Ulaz to gain the information they needed from Haggar. Keith looked on with mild disinterest. They were going about this the wrong way.  
  
While Ulaz was a very talented Blade, skilled in many areas, there was a reason why he infiltrated the Empire under the guise of a medic. Biology, medicine, and the like were his true areas of expertise. He was there as a doctor: not a engineer, not a technician, and not comms specialist, therefore, he will have to approach this as any doctor would and that meant approaching the patient.  
  
“How about…” Keith started slowly, waiting for everyone to shift their attention to him. “We don’t let Ulaz try to do anything.”  
  
Rana scoffed but before she could add anything to her incredulity, Kolivan stopped with a raise of his hand, and a curious tilt of his head. “Elaborate, Keith.”  
  
“Well, you guys are right. While Ulaz will be able to track and keep tabs on what’s going on behind Haggar’s door, he doesn’t really have access to any information of what they’d be doing to him until after it’s been done.” He leaned against the wall behind him with arms crossed. “But you know who would? The patient he’d be working with.”  
  
“You’re saying that we should have the Champion gather the information for us?” Regris affirmed.  
  
Kolivan stare was heavy, loaded with questions despite being masked. And yet he went with a simple, “how do you propose that, Keith?”  
  
Keith tapped the lenses covering his eyes, “we give him with one of these. If we implant him with Zels, we’ll be able to use the Champion to monitor everything for us. All Ulaz will have to do is perform the implantation and set up a means for us to receive all the data. We can monitor it and handle the rest from there.”  
  
“We cannot do that to the Champion.” Rana protested, “that’s a violation of his person.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, so is everything Ulaz is going to subject him to, as his doctor.” Keith hissed.  
  
Rana shook her head. “That’s different! It isn’t Ulaz’s choice to do those things. He’s following orders.”  
  
“No it isn’t!” Keith argued back, exasperated. Sure, he understood the “ethical” problem it would be if they went through with this. But they didn’t have many options. Not viable ones that wouldn’t put Ulaz at serious risk. “How is this any different than all the terrible surgeries he has had to perform or him administrating experimental drugs and toxins into these slaves’ bodies? That Ulaz is consciously aware that he’s doing?”  
  
Rana looked away, and Keith knew she was trying to deny that he had a point. Infiltration and espionage required more than the ability and knowledge of the part they would partake. They needed to set aside all of their morality, because they were crossing into the ranks of beings who would mercilessly do it without a second thought or question. They needed to be able to do this, be okay with it, and move on to the next task without another glance back.  
  
“I understand your concern, but Keith does bring up a valid argument.” Antok placed his hand on Rana’s shoulder. “Ulaz would have to put himself in danger, which would only compromise the mission and in the long run would hurt us as a whole. Are you really willing to make that kind of sacrifice out of Ulaz?”  
  
“This is what we chose to do.” Rana dipped her head. “We agreed that we would sacrifice our lives for our cause. We chose knowledge or death. The Champion did not.”  
  
“I don’t wish this for him,” Keith said. It wasn’t like he wanted this for the poor prisoner, and he didn’t want to be made to look like some heartless monster who was willing to sacrifice anything for the mission, but given the circumstances, their options were slim. And if he were to be honest, he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice the Champion in place of Ulaz. Because Ulaz was one of their own, family and a mentor to Keith, as well as a valuable asset to the Blade. And at least the Champion would be given something of the Blade and not found anywhere else. Special tech created by a wayward genius; even the Empire did not have access to it.  
  
“Think about it, compared to the other things the Empire already has done to him and will continue to make him go through, we’d be doing him a favor.”  
  
Rana wrapped her arms around herself. “Keep telling yourself that.” She muttered.  
  
Keith ignored the icy prickling in his chest, mouth set in a firm line. “Face it, the champion’s fate has been sealed as a slave and the Witch‘s new project. He’s a dead man.”  
  
Vrek placed her hand on Keith’s, mirroring Antok’s gesture. “You’ve made your point,” she murmured.  
  
Kolivan, who stood there silent and composed during the discussion, let out a slow exhale. “We shall plan Keith’s idea in greater detail; if it’s feasible we will go through with it.”  
  
Rana remained stiff by Antok’s side but nodded once in understanding.  
  
Regris hummed in thought, seemingly unperturbed by the previous conversation and the implications of the mission. “If we were to do this, Ulaz would be required to map out the Champion’s brain so we could design the Zel to appropriately work with his brain chemistry. It would also be best if he could give us any medical records the Empire has on file. He’ll need to get us that information as soon possible.”  
  
“We would also need to figure out a means of delivering the Zel once it’s been built.” Vrek added, pulling up a schematic of a ship with similar specifications to Sendak’s fleet. “Sendak runs a formidable ship and crew, but a drop-off mission should be simple enough. We need Ulaz to provide us any differentiations of the ship’s build so we can figure the best entry for us and for Ulaz to retrieve it.”  
  
Antok pulled up a holo-map with a purple blinking triangle near the center of the screen. “I guess all that’s left is figuring out all Sendak’s flight routes, it says here he’s going through the Allar quadrant, but depending how long it takes us to gather all other information we need, his route might change. We’ll have to keep a close watch on that.”  
  
Kolivan took a step back away from the first holo-screen. “It has been decided, I’ll send word to Ulaz as soon as he’s able to receive messages, we will then reconvene within a phoeb for job assignments and refining details.” He took his time to glance at every member in the room. “Are we understood?”  
  
“Understood!”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can’t believe I’m alive to see this come to fruition.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro begins to learn what the life of the “Champion” entails.
> 
> Keith begins to understand how the life of the “Champion” will affect his.

He was back on the examination table, strapped down, the light overbearing as usual. The hum of medical machines and the clanking of metal instruments disconcerting, but something was different this time.  
  
Ever since he had been taken from his previous cell to whatever isolated research ward he now resided in, there always seemed to be the same team of three—doctors? Scientists? Shiro supposed it didn't really matter— plus the Druid and a select few guards always working with him or watching him at any given time.  
  
However, the Druid today spent minimal time with him. They injected him with the usual dosage of whatever drug they've been testing on him, left the doctors to do his checkup before exiting the room without a single word, followed by one doctor. The remaining two continued his checkup: drawing blood and taking notes. When that was done, another doctor left too, leaving Shiro alone with the doctor that stood by his side.

The door clicked as it closed, and there was a sudden shift in the air, in the remaining doctor’s demeanor. Everything became calmer; the tension Shiro had gotten accustomed to was slowly dissipating.  
  
“Do not worry, Champion. I do not wish to harm you.”  
  
Shiro scoffed at the false reassurance before he even realized it. He couldn't help but sent a wary glance over at the towering Galra to see his reaction. That kind of attitude could easily result in punishment. But the Galra did nothing, his mask hid any reaction, but his gaze remained impassive.  
  
“I know this is hard on you. I know we’ve hurt you. And I'm sorry.”  
  
Shiro shifted in his bounded position. Was this strange Galra apologizing? But why, for what reason?    
  
Shiro didn't ask but the doctor answered with a press of his hands on Shiro's shoulders, straightening and relaxing their posture back on the table. The gesture was gentle, which must be the reason why Shiro didn't try to fight it.  
  
The doctor turned his back on him, reaching for something on his medical table, however he continued on, “I guess I should also thank you. What you’ll be doing is a great favor and we’ll be forever in your debt.” Shiro wanted to snort at that but he wasn't going to test this odd Galran’s good mood.  
  
And what the hell did he mean by thanking him? Shiro was afraid to know so he wouldn't dare ask. The other stepped forward and Shiro caught glimpse of a needle. He tried to remain still, to show him he wasn't afraid, but he must’ve failed given the other’s reaction. Which was yet another weird thing, those pupiless yellow eyes looked sad, sympathetic even and then the Galran spoke, low and oddly gentle. “Perhaps it would be better for you to focus on something good this time around.”  
  
Shiro didn't know how to react let alone question such an out of place comment. He wouldn't even have the chance when he felt a pinch in the pit of his elbow, the rush of chemicals entering his bloodstream, numbing his body in a quick overthrow of his senses.  
  
There was something different and it was this Galra, this entire situation that left him slightly off-kilter, ignoring the churning sedative currently in his bloodstream.  
  
He often tried to ignore his daily visits to the lab, blocking it for his own peace of mind, but not this time. No, he would try to remember this doctor. He blinked several times, rapid shots in order to capture the image while he was still conscious to do so. Despite the mask covering half of his face, he would memorize his pale lavender skin, the white tuft of hair, and the split in his eyebrows.  
  
He would to his best to recall the other’s quiet movements, his subtle graceful sway, and his placid voice. Something just told him he would need to remember this one day.  
  
The sedative made quick work as he his mind quietly faded to the background of his consciousness. He had to remember this and—  
  
He would remember. Hopefully something good this time.

* * *

“Where are you taking me?” Shiro snarled as he was pushed into a strange room. They didn't answer him, they never did, but something was wrong and panic made a home in his chest.  
  
Don't panic— he was held down, shoulders pinned against an examination table, chest strapped down tight with little give but that didn't stop him from trying to fight them off despite the futility of doing so. A sharp pinprick pinched his neck and this—  
  
This never happened before.  
  
He had to stop. They had to stop. He couldn't panic, he wouldn't. He needed to breathe. Why was it so hard to breathe? The lights were too bright, the sounds were too loud but he couldn't understand them because they were muffled somehow too.  
  
He opened his mouth to speak, his jaw felt heavy and his tongue thick. “What do you want from me?”  
  
No answer. What was he trying to ask?  
  
Three silhouettes blocked the overhead light. Thank goodness, it was hurting his eyes. His joints buzzed in warning. He was sinking. Why was he— what was—where—too many thoughts. He was too slow to hold onto any of them. Focus. He needed to focus. On what?  
  
On— on…  
  
He couldn't remember.

* * *

He was alone. Body hunched in the corner closest to the door, head resting but ears alert, listening and waiting. He needed to know when the guards would come to take him back to the arena. He already figured it was a few days after every fight, but time spent trapped in his cell bled deep and slow. It was maddening. But he had to know, he had to be aware of when they came to take him. He couldn't afford to be caught off guard. Never again.  
  
A howl was heard, far off and echoing, which meant it came from the beast in the first cell in this block. In less than a minute, the sentry patrols would march past his door, but not before making a pause at the next intersection, unless they opted to stop at another’s cell beforehand. He just had to count. He drummed his fingers in tandem to the step count. At ten there would be the anticipated pause, another six and they would be passing him; surely, he just had to wait it out and be patient.  
  
There was no pause. He barely caught it as it was still too far away but he soon realized that the patrol sentry’s timing was off, there wasn't a pause like he had expected. He couldn't quell the sudden spike of anxiety, made worse once he noticed that there were not only one set of footsteps but multiple.  
  
He pressed himself into his corner as if curling into himself would make him smaller and somehow he would be missed by whatever was coming. He had to try and remain calm, there was still a chance they would pass him.  
  
Five steps… two steps and pause. They stopped, right in front of his cell. Shiro let out a shuddering breath.  
  
The door slid open, a sentry stepped in gun poised and ready, followed by two soldiers in grey armor, and then slipped in the figure fully covered by dark robes. A reaper.  
  
It was the Druid who stood before him and spoke. “Rise Champion, you shall be coming with us.” Their voice was void of any inflection and their masks kept their secrets hidden. But Shiro knew of one.  
  
They were hiding eyes of a monster.  
  
He didn't have to bother with the effort of getting up. The guards took the preemptive measure of stepping forward and forcing him onto his feet. They bound his wrists together and locked them with cuffs. The Druid made their way back out the door and the guards proceeded to drag him along shortly behind.  
  
He heard the rumors from the other prisoners—beware of the beings that slither through the halls, shadowed by their cloaks, faces bleached out by their masks. The Druids was what they were, Reapers as they were called by the other captives. And if one came knocking on your cell door, you should realize that this would be the last of you.  
  
And it looked like his time was up.

* * *

He hated days like this.  
  
Stuck in a curious fog, with nothing responding appropriately. The Druid was there, along with three figures. Doctors or assistants, Shiro couldn't recall. They always injected him with something that made it hard for him to focus. But he wasn't anything if not patient.  
  
As far as Shiro could tell, he's been routinely subjected to some kind of drug while the rest sat there to watch for any reactions. He supposed it's been ongoing for quite some time, but Shiro honestly couldn't tell anymore. The passage of time was a lost concept to him now.  
  
He didn't like all of their gazes on him when he wasn't in a sound state of mind. Their detached and callous expressions were disturbing, although one of them seemed to pull his attention more often than the others. Their expression was guarded, carefully so, but there was a hint of inquisitiveness as they stood to the far side of the room by a terminal as they always did, the perfect vantage point to observe everyone in the room.  
  
It was days like this, when the fog crept up on him and tried to pull him down to the depths and crevices of his subconscious, where dark thoughts waited to prey and feast. Hungry to claim yet another piece of Shiro.  
  
He could feel another piece of himself being taken. Each day he spent in this lab, after each test, he was just a little less Shiro being carved out into a husk called ‘the Champion.’ He ground his teeth together as he attempted to wade through his muddled thoughts. He didn't want this, he needed to hold onto to the only thing Shiro had left—himself. He would never willfully hand it over to Empire.  
  
So he tried to think, think and remember the faces of the monsters that held him down, of how many steps it took the guard to get to his cell, keep track of the times they brought him his meals. Any little detail he tried to catalogue while he still had some semblance of lucidity.  
  
Because right now even if it hurt to remember, it hurt worse to forget.

* * *

Shiro hadn't been captured long but he quickly learned the ways of the alien ship, the ruthlessness of the species called Galra, and the hopelessness they carved into the ones they claimed and conquered.

He learned what it meant to be a prisoner.  
  
Shortly after being taken from Kerberos, he learned that he may never see his crew nor his home again. The aliens that caught them were towering and spoke in snarled tones, skin dipped in the last shade of violet before darkness claimed everything and bright yellow eyes like people described in campfire tales  
  
After they were brought onboard and Shiro’s pleas of peace were beaten out of him, they were taken somewhere Shiro could vaguely assume was a medical room, in order to run tests most like. That would be the last time he would ever see his commander. Being separated from the elder Holt, he and Matt were thrown into a cell where various alien species cramped up the space.  
  
They were told of the stories. About the Galran Empire, of a monstrous conqueror named Zarkon, and the cruelty of his subjects.  
  
They were also told of their new statuses as slaves.  
  
It was made spectacularly apparent when they were soon brought to their first arena battle. A great, grueling warrior by the name of Myzax, the strongest fighter the arena had produced, and a suicide fight for anyone who would go up against him. When Matt was forced to the forefront, Shiro did what needed to be done. But god, he hoped it was worth it. Injuring Matt from going into the fight and taking his place instead. He didn't want to imagine a worse fate than the arena. He forcibly shut out the images of Matt being slaughtered without another thought spared, because why would they care for an injured prisoner?  
  
After he had won that fight by nothing sort of a miracle with his survival instincts pulling through, being cast away to a dingy cramped cell all to himself, and without any chance of finding out what happened to his final crew member and friend, he finally learned what it meant to be a slave.  
  
God, please let Matt live. All he wanted was for this to be worth it.

* * *

 The lights in his cell began to brighten. It was time to wake up. In nearly five minutes from now food would slide through the shaft at the bottom of the cell door and he would be expected to eat it.  
  
He crossed his legs over each other, rested his back against the wall, and allowed his eyes to shut. It was enough time to do brief meditation. He even granted himself a couple of more minutes longer after he heard the scraping of his food tray. Typically, there would be punishment if he tried to skip meals. But ever since his move to his new cell, they have been quite strict about his diet and eating habits. As long as he ate his plate by the time they came back, nothing would happen.  
  
In just a few short hours, his day would begin. They were much more predictable now. The constant vigilance he had at the start, of watching and waiting for his last fight in the arena were now scrubbed off with the complacency of routine. Isolated in a desolate ward, they had given him a bigger room with a cot to sleep on. There was even two separate rooms for his use even if they didn't have doors for additional privacy; one was a tiny bathroom with nothing more than a sink and a place to do his business, he was still required to be escorted to be showered (more like hosed down) in a separate area, but at least now he didn't have to time and hold for moments when the entire cell block was taken for a break. Even better he didn't have to share a space or be near the ones with prisoners who were unable to hold it. He definitely didn't miss the sour, pungent smell of other aliens’ piss and feces.  
  
The other room was just as small as the bathroom and the main thing found in there was what Shiro would describe as a punching bag. It was a piece of equipment attached by coils and wires, bolted to both to the floor and ceiling. The bag itself had a leather-like texture just a tad softer even if it was somehow tougher, never tearing with little give when Shiro wailed on the bag as he took out his frustration and excess energy. There was also a pull-up bar situated in the frame that split the small work-out room from the main one. If anything, Shiro wouldn't complain about his newfound, slightly nicer amenities. It felt good being able to release some tension; exercising was the only outlet Shiro had to allow himself to escape, being able to focus on pouring all of his energy into physical exhaustion, clearing his mind of all thoughts both bad and good because he just couldn't afford that anymore and canceling all the white noise that made home in his head more often as of late.  
  
He knew what this was. He was their new research project, even if he didn't know for what purpose. More room, steady meals, forced isolation with a lack of contact with the other prisoners, a routine to follow. It wasn't hard to figure out that he was their lab rat and this was merely one of their observation rooms.  
  
He was a test subject and nothing more.  
  
And he had the choice. He could continue fighting them off and risk being thrown back into the constant battles of the arena and the continuous fear or he could give himself some reprieve for once and pray that he wouldn't die during one of their research stints. Everyday he would start out with a sickening lurch in his stomach when he opted to dutifully eat his morning meal, use the sink to wash off last night’s sweat and relieve himself, and when he performed his circuits with his limited workout equipment. All before resting back on his cot while waiting for the sound of footfalls, precise and militant, twenty steps in and they would be right at his cell.  
  
He had his back to the door but he didn't startle at the sound of a beep before the silent whoosh of the door sliding open.  
  
“Up, Champion.”  
  
Shiro sighed. Right on schedule.

* * *

Like a shroud of death, the Druid slipped in from the shadows and made their way towards Shiro. He was so tired, maybe today this Reaper would guide him past the threshold of the living.  
  
They pulled him back until he was lying on the table. Soon he would be injected with what he assumed was some form of anesthesia or relaxant to ensure he didn't fight or struggle.  
  
The Druid spoke, to themselves or someone, but never to Shiro. Or maybe they did, spitting curses at him with the archaic slithering language they used while they performed whatever vile tests they wanted on him.  
  
If today wasn't the day for Shiro to encounter death, he would visit the next best thing. He slipped into a trance at first, kept his focus on even breathing as his only saving grace while being strapped down on their table. It was so cold yet so familiar that he poured all of his focus into trying to remember what warmth felt like. He couldn't let the cold take over all his memories of earth, sun, and life.  
  
But maybe if he sunk deeper, almost asleep, burrowing further into a trance where it could be almost kind to him and full of memories of before. The harsh hot sands of the desert whipping at his legs as he surged forward on his hover bike. Never with a set destination but now there was only one place he yearned to go.  
  
If he could only just shut his eyes tighter and stop breathing, in order to suck in heaps amount of hot, dry air. Where there was nothing else aside from the blazing sun and the licks of desert sand, whirling around him as he pressed his bike to go faster, faster and faster with the momentum to soar right off the upcoming cliff and into the rumbling shakes of the simulator. Veer left at the upcoming asteroid, begin to pull back and slow down for descent. Or maybe just surge a little faster, push a little harder because he knew he could, and he maybe he would just forget about the landing altogether and keep on going, sailing through the stars and far, far away.  
  
How long had it been —years maybe— since he’d been able to do anything like that. With the sort of freedom that allowed for reckless abandon. But right now, the memory teemed with fake stars like the simulator, even as he fell deeper into a dark void of his making. But he remembered it as something he couldn’t live without, like that moment had everything it needed to hold him together, anchor him down before he got himself too lost in the vestiges of space.  
  
Because maybe he could have a sense of reality again.

* * *

_` The subject (re: the Champion, see attached file: UlReport1) has recently undergone surgery for the implantation of Zels, done by Blade member Ulaz (see attached file: UlReport2, check reference notes and specs in attached file: ZChampion, for additional information and details). Zel implantation was a success with minimal to no complications.` _  
  
Keith pulled back from his hunched position, stretching his arms high, allowing his spine to pop and relieve some tension. He cracked his knuckles before jotting down more notes into his pad for his report.  
  
_`Connection was established one spicolian movement after implantation was completed and server was secured by technical support Naxa. First wave of data download has shown the Champion to spend one quarter of a quintant with the druid (upon further study, the druid in question is singular and the same, with no additional others) as well as the selected team of medic techs (including Ulaz, see attached file: Ulreport3, for secondary report on tasks required to be performed, speculations on drug type and use, and results affecting the subject).` _  
  
_`The subject will be used as a means of secondary monitoring. The subject spends majority of his time with the druid before being handed to the medics (approximately one to two vargas).` _  
  
He wanted to grumble and complain and essentially throw a tantrum over his job for this particular mission but he was better than that. At least he had to show that he was. He would complain all he wanted on his own.  
  
It had been almost two phoebs since he suggested installing Zels into the Champion and almost three movements since they carried out the mission. Which Keith didn't get to partake in because he got stuck with the job of doing all the initial monitoring and data gathering after the installation.  
  
Regris was in charge of building the Zel according to the notes provided by Ulaz. After Antok and Vrek figured out the best entryway possible for delivery, they took Rana with them for the delivery mission.  
  
She looked so smug about it, too.  
  
And here Keith was, with the most tedious task of all: view the data, write a report, send it to Kolivan for review. It was boring and really not his forte, this kind of job was more suitable for the likes of Regris or Vrek who had a better attention for details.  
  
_“It makes sense that Kolivan would put you in charge of info-gathering. After all it was your idea.” Rana taunted before being carted away by Vrek to prepare for her mission._  
  
Keith seethed as he remembered her mocking words. He should do something to spite her. Perhaps he could tell Yexir about Rana’s raging crush on them, that would show her. He sighed. Okay, maybe he was acting a little petty with him wanting to out Rana directly to Yexir. Of course, if he happened to mention it to Kinra, who had the loosest lips for gossip on the base, well then he wasn't petty enough to snitch directly but just maybe he was a petty enough to let the rumor spread.  
  
He snickered at his own scheming. He would hold off on that plan for now, save such ammo for another time. He couldn't well blame her for the task he got, that was all on Kolivan, and when he confronted him about it?  
  
_“I figured now would be a good time as any to show you another aspect of the Blade. So far you've been assigned on field missions. However as you know there are many duties needing to be performed in order for a mission to be completely successful.” Kolivan had stepped up to Keith and placed his hand on his shoulder. He hoped his disappointment didn't show for Kolivan to see. “Your assignment is equally important as the others, if not even more so. This is an intimate type of reconnaissance we’ve never attempted before, with lots of unknown elements at play. It is imperative that you remain focus on your assignment at all times; but I believe you are ready for the task.”_  
  
Keith could only huff and hold his tongue, it would have been pointless to argue as it would showcase he didn't have the adequate skills nor the maturity to be handling missions. So Keith accepted without further complaint and waited for the first wave of data reels for him to review.  
  
The problem was, it turned out to be very boring. On his own, the Champion didn't do much aside from sitting around each cycle, or training for a bit, while waiting for when he would be dragged out and tested. It was kind of pathetic.  
  
Keith grimaced at his snide thought. He shouldn't criticize the Champion’s method of coping. He had read reports on the conditions of the Empire’s slaves and suffice to say, he wouldn't wish that upon anyone. The arena fights, for one, were bloody and gruesome, especially when it concerned life the Empire didn't care about. He knew of the labor camps for those unable to be of proper… entertainment. And he wasn't sure which death he would rather go with, by swift and painful combat or dragged out for years until he withered away to nothing.  
  
He remembered the death of Myzax and he imagined the Champion’s eventual death at the hands of the druids. How he would be taken apart and put back together as somewhat less than kindly, less than sentient. A weapon to be used and discarded, was nothing short of horrifying. He really did feel bad for the Champion; no being deserved this. Not that there was anything Keith could do when they were galaxies apart.  
  
He was reminded of the Gladiator, Myzax, the once mild-mannered alien turned aggressor and predator, meant to entertain a bloodthirsty crowd.  
  
Could this be what they want from the Champion?  
  
_`When left to his own devices, the subject will spend time using training equipment that has been provided in new cell. Other activities include: pacing main floor/sleeping area, eating meals provided, taking hygienic care, resting in an upright position, and sleeping (not drug-induced).` _  
  
So far not much has happened in terms of the test they're running on the Champion. He kept the files separate: time spent in lab and time spent by himself. He figured it was more important to report what went on during his time in the lab, but he first opted to check the other aspects of the prisoner’s time, get a feel for his character, Keith supposed. There wasn't much to see, but then the champion had injured himself. Keith pulled his injury up to his view, and now that Keith noticed he couldn't just ignore it.  
  
The Champion’s hands. They were somewhat big (for his species size) but his skin was fleshy and pale, a starchy, sandy color with minuscule scratches, two sets of four long bony fingers connected by joints with a set of opposable thumbs.  
  
He reviewed the short clip that managed to capture the subject looking at his own hands. Over and over. These looked like hands he had seen in his father’s films, in the photo of his actual father, hands that looked so similar to his own.  
  
Human hands.  
  
He could be mistaken; he couldn't deny the odds of finding other species similar in color and build (he has seen them, too), and without any other confirmation or being able to see the rest of him Keith had no way of knowing for sure. Except nothing could stop him from fixating on such a minor detail.  
  
It was all kinds of shit because if Keith was right then Ulaz had to have known and purposefully left it out of the report, worse yet, if he mentioned it to Kolivan then he too didn't bother to say anything.  
  
Which made the situation full of shit, because now, for an indefinite period of time he would essentially be living through the Champion’s own eyes and ears, seeing and hearing everything he did. The first of Keith’s species that wasn't recorded or photographed, who right now, in real time, was living and breathing, and Keith wouldn't be allowed to make contact with him. Because the mission had to come first and whatever the fuck Keith was feeling at this moment couldn't get in the way.  
  
Just a kind-of-full-of shit feeling, because he was a Blade first and a human second. Whatever it was that Keith convinced himself to make his initial reservations about using the Champion for their own gain okay seemed like weak platitudes to ease his conscience. He also knew he could never take back his actions or what he said.  
  
“ _Face it, the champion’s fate has been sealed as a slave and the Witch‘s new project. He’s a dead man.”_  
  
Keith was still right about the Champion’s fate. Unless Ulaz did something drastic and threw away the entire operation, the Champion was good as dead. And he would have to watch him fight and struggle, suffering at the hands of the Empire until he was hollowed and broken.  
  
And Keith just couldn't stand to see the Champion this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a kind-of-full-of shit feeling, huh Keith?
> 
> (I’m terrible)
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying so far. Feel free to comment and make a lil author’s day C:


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely one of Keith’s more reckless ideas. 
> 
> He still isn’t sure whether he regrets it or not.

The Champion struggled.  
  
He was in the fighting pits, up against a limbless beast with an elongated form that stretched long enough to be about the radius of the arena. It slithered with an extremely flexible body and when it hissed, a forked tongue made its way past three sets of fangs.  
  
The Champion’s heart rate spiked and Keith had it all recorded as adrenaline kicked through the Champion’s system. Gathering data on his increasing heart rate, the rise in blood pressure, the amount of oxygen he took in.  
  
It wouldn't be long before the Champion’s enhancements kicked in. So far the Witch’s ongoing experiment on the human had yielded satisfactory results and the only time they sent him back to the arena was to test out whatever they had recently worked into the Champion’s body, study how it fared during the heat of battle.  
  
Keith had seen it all; the initial stages of the “Champion” project had the human typically unconscious, his body flooded with sedatives until one quintant they subbed out the drug for muscles relaxers. According to one of Ulaz’s reports it was to see any immediate effects it had on their specimen while they were still conscious.  
  
Keith had scoffed at the report, what they were doing was torture. They had altered so many things about the Champion with various implants, completely reforming his nervous system and body, while gambling his life by throwing him in the arena.

It was unfortunate that the Champion was aware of what was happening to him. The Druid and doctors ensured he wouldn’t with all the mind altering drugs in his system, where to the Champion, everything probably had seemed out of focused. Fortunately  
for Keith the Zel wouldn't be affected by any outside influences like that. A major perk of having the implant was how it recorded everything without the downside of biological limitations, nor if they were chemically induced or caused by physical trauma.  
  
Not that Keith really had a right to form his opinions on their methods, given his own actions. He ignored the heavy weight that sat in the pit of his stomach, despite the hypocrisy the least he could do was give the human his undivided attention, he paused the recording of the arena and played the Champion’s recent trip to the lab prior to the fight.

The Champion was—like Keith had seen many times before—pinned down to the table, the lights overhead were bright which only helped emphasize the darkness of the surrounding shadows, aided by the dim hues of violet of the ship. There was only the Druid and one other doctor who wasn't Ulaz. They stood on each side of him, the doctor began preparing an IV and setting the machines that must have been behind the Champion’s cot while Druid checked over notes on a nearby holo-screen.  
  
The Champion had his focus set more on the screen than the Druid. It made Keith wonder if the human was capable of reading Galran and if he had any understanding of what it meant for him.  
  
Keith bookmarked the moment and zoomed in on the frame; part of the screen was blocked by the Druid but what Keith caught were notes on the Champion’s current form and health. Keith tried to piece together the info from whatever he was able to gather. What he understood was that the Champion’s reflexes were decreasing with the passage of time, his endurance was declining as well, and his muscles needed additional stimulus because they were getting weaker. Because it was…  
  
Muscle degeneration.  
  
Keith sat there, stiff and still, unwilling to break the silence of the room with any sort of movement. Was the Champion sick? Perhaps that was the reason for the new array of experimentation. They still approached him with apathy and their morbid curiosity but now it seemed they had more regard to his well being? Keith couldn't be sure but if their little project was falling apart at the seams would they really spend the extra resources to care?

Keith couldn’t help but feel sorry for the human. He was both fortunate and the unluckiest bastard if the Empire wanted to keep him alive, especially given their twisted methods on how they went about it.

The Druid turned back to face the Champion and doctor, “let us begin,” they intoned. From there it seemed that the doctor went to follow the order, piercing through Shiro’s hands with the IV, and whatever formula or solution the doctor prepared it with had an odd yellow tint to the liquid. As soon as the Champion caught sight of the IV he began to struggle with more fervor. He whimpered, attempting to shift away from the doctor despite knowing it was futile. It was automatic flight response and Keith couldn't blame him for that.  
  
“What are you doing to me?” The Champion asked in his garbled Galran. The pronunciation getting caught up and twisted in his gums and around his tongue. It seemed the Champion did understand the language, Keith made a special note of that.  
  
“No.” He shook his head but the doctor ignored him, picking up two metal instruments reviewing each with an critical impassive gaze before settling on the larger one, placing down the other back on the table.  
  
Through the Champion’s eyes Keith could tell that the tool the doctor chose was a sharp one. “No don't touch me.” He repeated but his plea was disregarded.  
  
It took less than a dobosh for the human’s struggles to grow weaker, his tossing and turning were more sluggish but that didn’t seem to ease his panic.  
  
“ _What_ _are you doing to my body!?_ ” He shouted, scared and raw and completely human.  
  
Keith ended the clip there, he had a fairly good idea on what would happen next. He knew at some point he would need to watch the rest in order to send in his report, but he just needed a moment to process what he’d seen and heard.

It was the first time he heard the Champion speak in his native tongue, in _human_.

Even when let on his own the Champion hardly spoke, not to himself at least in order to break the silence. Well, there was a time about a phoeb ago where it sounded like the Champion was saying something but it wasn't Galran and it didn't sound like the human words that Keith learned from his movies. At the time, he assumed the Champion was having a mental breakdown of some sort. Although he later reasoned it may have been a different human dialect he wasn’t familiar with. However after the initial rant in that odd language, he eventually settled down and cried himself to sleep.  
  
That was also the first time Keith witnessed the Champion looking so utterly broken, it was probably where the horrified realization of the Champion’s situation began to set in the forefront of his mind, as well as the series of painful churnings made themselves welcomed in his chest.

Back to the recent recording of the Champion against the slithering beast, he witnessed as the Champion managed to stab his weapon through the tail of the beast, it hissed out venom and attempted to strike at the Champion. Keith sat at the edge of his seat with rapt attention, watching as it came hurtling towards the human, mouth open and fangs ready to bite through the man. The Champion managed stop the beast with his bare hands and threw it on the ground before it could unleash its venom. Keith’s heart leapt at the sight, his physical prowess was very impressive. The Champion pulled his weapon out of the tail and quickly  ran to the beast’s head where he delivered another stab to the underside of it’s head, then he pulled his leg back and put all of his force into his kick against the beast‘s jaw.  
  
One kick became two and by the third hefty kick, Keith heard the crunch of the beast’s bones breaking as it’s jaw was unhinged.  
  
He could hear the cheering of the crowd crisp and clear but Keith wondered how it really sounded like to the Champion’s ears. With all that adrenaline coursing through his veins, did the heavy rush of pumping blood deafen everything else around him? Or did he force himself to focus on the roars of the Galra watching him, ensuring that their cruel echoes would reverberate forever in his ears?  
  
Keith wasn’t sure when he began to wonder how the Champion saw and heard things, but the need to know grew stronger with each recording he saw, every report he wrote. It was the oddest experience Keith had ever felt, he thought about things he never bothered to fathom before. It left him reeling.  
  
The Champion looked down at his human hands, they trembled just as violently as how he took down the beast; the blood on his hands served as a reminder to them both.  
  
Keith wished he could tell the Champion what the Galra had really done to his body.  
  
He wished he could admit to the Champion what _he_ did to his body.

* * *

….  
…  
..  
  
_`The modifications the Champion has undergone are as followed:` _ __  
__  
_`1) Cyber Reaction System: This system supplants the user's normal nervous system, enhancing it artificially. It allows the impulses to travel faster and farther along the system, improving reaction time, while also improving fine motor control, hand-eye coordination, increasing accuracy. By fine-tuning the user's nervous system, this implant allows vastly improved reaction times and coordination over unmodified individuals.` _ __  
__  
`2) Cardio enhancements: This implant micromanages the cardiovascular system, effectively increasing the user's constitution faster and further than hard work and exercise might.`  
  
`3) Neuro-response implant: This implant boosts the regular energy impulses of the nervous system, sharpening the performance of dexterous action. This implant also regulates the nervous system, preventing loss of consciousness due to sudden impact or sensory overload. Inactive users may suffer a lingering twitch.`  
  
Keith had his chin propped up by his hand, the other drummed along his keyboard as he stared at the screen with a bored gaze. He sighed and pushed himself away, rubbing circles over his temples and eyes. Why were reports so boring?  
  
He was a restless type of Galran, he needed action and movement. Sitting still for vargas at a time only made him antsy. Deep down however, he knew he didn’t want to admit it—not even to himself— how it was getting harder to remain objective whenever he had to review and report what the Champion had seen.

How he is being stripped of his very person for the past eight phoebs.

Despite the valuable information the Blade of Marmora had gleaned about Haggar’s latest experiments: the type of technology they used and the drugs they were developing. Keith was beginning to question if his initial idea was worth the Champion’s pain.  
  
_`Other developments created by Haggar and tested on the Champion are as followed:` _ __  
__  
_`Haggar’s Quintessence enhancement. Haggar uses injections, a mixture that also contains part quintessence, that usurps the body's natural reactions to stress and damage, allowing the user to withstand greater amounts of punishment and exertion than normally possible. These injections increases the cardiovascular recovery rate and pain tolerance of the wearer, giving them unnatural stamina.` _ __  
__  
_`Haggar’s Bio-Antidote enhancement: This is a method that puts them under one sleep cycle while the body is injected and undergoes an ever-circulating stream of antitoxins in the user. Increasing relevant antidotes for specific poisons may be introduced. Different species may yield mixed results.` _ __  
  
Keith laughed, a staggering bitter sound. He wasn't sure what the others would say if he shared these tumultuous emotions that swirled uneasily in his heart. Would Kolivan be disappointed, would they take him off the mission?  
  
Maybe they would see him as a failure. Blame it on his human side for being unable to remain objective? He just couldn't reconcile what his actions had led to.  
  
_But_ , his mind interrupted, even without their intervention the Champion would still have gone through the project. So what difference would it have made?  
  
Keith could feel the bile rising in his throat as his own damn conscience continued to try to appease him with logic. The difference was, he chose to do this without the other’s consent, without the Champion even knowing; who continued to suffer thinking he was all alone in this. The difference was that Keith would always know what the other went through and he would never do a thing to help the other man, just sitting here writing reports about his torture.  
  
Damn it all, Rana was right. They shouldn't have dragged the Champion into this without the intent to help him, not when he had no say in the matter.  
  
The knowledge wasn't worth the Champion’s pain.  
  
If only, Keith thought, he could experience what the Champion went through. If he could, he would have tried to share the burden in hopes that it would ease the other’s suffering. Or at least partake in it, to better understand what the Champion has been going through, even if he knew it wouldn't absolve him of his guilt.  
  
It was a wild thought, freeform and unpredictable. No, it was insane and every bit of reckless foolhardy that Kolivan disapproved of. But the roaming dangerous thought gave Keith an idea. If only he linked up to the Champion then he could see it for himself. He wouldn't be allowed to engage with the Champion but maybe it was the first step in the right direction. Seeing what the Champion did with his own eyes, hearing the sounds with his own ears would perhaps shed new insight on the human’s situation. And maybe… Keith could find something there, something that could help the Champion in someway—information or an idea Keith wasn't sure but if he looked closer he might just be able to find an answer that would benefit them both.  
  
The only problem was link sharing was too risky, especially at their distance, anyone could pick up the signal. The Zel provided an option that allowed live streaming from ones vision to another’s if they can establish a “link” but it wasn’t a standard procedure for the Blade. If there was live streaming, it would typically be shown to another screen. Often the data was stored and then downloaded more safely into another server or external drive for later viewing—which Keith had been doing since the start of the mission.

With link sharing, not only could a third party interfere but they could essentially hack the feed if the rest were not careful. Prolong use also affected the mind, if Keith were to truly go through with this he would need to be very careful.    
  
Keith wasn't a tech expert like Regris or Naxa but he knew his way around a program or two and he at least had enough experience by now dealing with the servers on Sendak’s ship for him to sneak in there, upload his Zel into the server and establish a link with the Champion. The only thing Keith would need to watch out for was pinging Naxa’s radar but they had a set scheduled of when Naxa would routinely check the server for a download before sending it Keith’s way. So all he had to do was avoid those periods and he should be in the clear.    
  
He was really going to do this, the realization had Keith’s heart beating wildly in chest and it wasn't from fear.  
  
It was anticipation.

* * *

Keith made sure he had everything prepared.  
  
He had gathered all the specs Regris drew up for the Champion’s customized Zel in order to better understand how it worked. He also read through all of Naxa’s programming that allowed her to bypass Sendak’s security and how it connected to the Champion’s Zel in order to upload the data and feeds.  
  
He then checked the whereabouts of all the other blade members. He went out to eat with Kinra, sparred with Antok, had a short conversation with Regris regarding their new assignment, and went over the latest report with Kolivan. Now that he was seen by the others they were less likely to interrupt what would have been his downtime.  
  
No one would bother him, it was the perfect time to begin.  
  
Bypassing through the servers took more time than what Keith was normally patient for but he refused to cut corners, he wouldn't rush this operation and risk his opportunity.  
  
For the Champion he could wait.  
  
After he he was able to hack into the server, he went to remotely access the Champion’s Zel’s in order to allow it to link share.  
  
Now came the interesting part. Keith went over to his bed, the small thing tucked into the corner of his quarters. Maneuvering himself until his back rested against the wall as comfortable as he could get. He turned on his link sharing and uploaded his Zel into the hacked server, all he had to do now was connect his to the Champion’s.  
  
The process was, as always, strange; when his vision saw one thing then the disorienting flicker of color as the Zel curated a new image in front of his sight. The popping of his ears and the resulting hum as his ears picked up a new sound that couldn't be found in his room.  
  
It was an odd sort of quiet rush as his mind began picking up things from his new environment, Keith didn't understand it himself to properly describe it. But the first thing he was able to focus on were the sounds of panting and frustrated growls, followed by a series of heavy thuds. The object in front of Keith was a punching bag but the hands that wailed on it with precise, practiced swings were not his.  
  
He recognized those hands though, they were the Champion’s. Slightly larger than his own, thick fingers with visible veins in the backside of the hand. They were also bruised and bloody, his skin was torn at the knuckles.  
  
Keith’s heart stuttered at the sight. What was the Champion doing, damaging his hands so carelessly?  
  
The Champion performed another series of punches, Keith could see and hear the distraught behind the man’s aggression. Keith sat there, unnerved yet silent, attempting to figure out what had happened that got the Champion so agitated. Unfortunately he would probably only find out until the next spicolian movement when Naxa sent the latest wave of data to him.  
  
Keith observed with the hints of apprehension as the Champion swayed forward until he caught himself on the punching bag. His breathing was uneven, hard gasping inhales followed by crumbling exhales. With the following stuttering breath, the Champion pushed himself away from the bag, turning away from it and rushing into the other room, the sound of the rapid dull padding of his feet also carried Keith over to the man’s next destination: his hygienic room, where the man promptly vomited into his sink.  
  
Keith covered his own mouth as he saw the human’s sick, he clenched his other hand allowing for his nails to bite into his palm. Was the Champion ill? Was he still drugged from the latest experiment? Why would the Champion subjugate himself through vigorous activity if he wasn't well?  
  
But all those questions fell away when the man raised his face from the sink and gazed at his pallid visage in the mirror. Keith’s breath hitched, this was the first time he ever saw the Champion’s face. He wasn't sure if he could describe how it looked. Very much like his own and his father’s and yet so different: the skin color was slightly off from his own—considering Keith’s was a blend of colors but the Champion was almost translucent—his eyebrows had a similar thickness but the arch was different. The Champion’s nose wasn't as upturned as Keith’s either, there was however a very distinctive scar across the bridge of it and Keith couldn't remember witnessing the Champion receiving any type of face injury. Did it happen before the mission had started or did Keith miss something? The lack of an answer was surely going to drive Keith mad.  
  
For right now Keith wouldn't allow himself to dwell on it and pushed it aside to focus onto something else like the man’s lips which seemed to have a fuller shape but the color was so pale that it blended into the rest of his skin (perhaps that was due to the Champion’s illness?). However what really captured Keith’s attention were the Champion’s eyes. Very much different than Keith’s or his father’s; the shape of them for one as with the eyelids, but it was the color and the stare that drew Keith in. A silver grey of molten metal that would probably have been captivating if it weren't for the dead and tired stare.  
  
Overall the Champion looked awful, he appeared to be at the end of his rope. Keith briefly wondered if under different circumstances, if given a healthier disposition would the Champion be considered attractive by other humans.  
  
Would Keith have found him attractive?  
  
The thought struck a spark down his spine that he found unpleasant or maybe it was just strange because it was an unfamiliar feeling, he wasn't sure how to identify it. No matter what he thought or felt of the Champion’s appearance, it all shattered away with a loud crash, along with the now broken mirror and the human’s even more bloodier hand.  
  
Keith had to pull back on the urge in wanting to yell and berate the Champion’s thoughtless actions. Even Keith wasn't that careless with his safety but he remained silent as the Champion stumbled his way back into room and rolled into his cot, cradling the more damaged hand with the other as blood dribbled down his arm and onto the bedding.  
  
Keith also had to push down the want of reaching out for the Champion’s hands, to cradle them in his down while he appropriately took care of the damage.  
  
It wasn't long before the door whooshed open and in came two sentries and one of the doctors, but not Ulaz. The Champion didn't fight back as the doctor injected something into his arm, most likely a sedative, remaining impassive and docile as the doctor bandaged up both hands. The doctor and sentries left quickly after completion, and when it was proven the Champion wasn't going to throw up a fuss.  
  
The following ticks were deathly silent until Keith’s vision began to blur and he soon realized they were due to tears from the other. A sob quickly joined after and Keith trembled in his seat as the Champion once again let out all of his emotions. These sobs weren't quite like the ones from his last break down, but Keith could tell this was worse when the man hissed an utter single, “ _fuck_ .” To his empty room, followed by more dry empty sobs.  
  
There was frustration, pain, and a certain type of sadness Keith knew he would never fully understand all portrayed through that one word.  
  
Perhaps now would be a good time to shut off, this felt too intimate to witness through the Champion, especially when he couldn't help.  
  
Or maybe he could… It clearly was a risk but Keith assumed that with the drugs now in the Champion’s system he would be too out of sorts to really notice or understand what was happening. Keith wanted to help in some way so he hoped the risk would be worth it.  
  
Everything so far had been one way interactions between them; only Keith was able to hear and see everything the Champion did but what Keith was going to do was allow for the Champion to hear Keith’s side of the line.  
  
Keith straightened his back, took a deep steady breath and opened his comms. For a quivering tick he remained mute as he listened to the Champion’s disheartening sobs. But hopefully the drugs were in effect by now, therefore not before long would the Champion pass out.  
  
With one more breath Keith began to hum. Softly and with his mouth closed, Keith wasn't even sure if the Zel would be able to pick on the sound and pass it on for the Champion to hear but he didn't want to go any higher. Afraid that if he did he would trespass over the invisible line that kept them separated.  
  
He hummed a lullaby his mother learned from his father. She always mourned the fact she never got a recording of him singing it and she couldn't remember the words only the melody.  
  
She also said that Keith sounded like his father whenever he hummed the song. A part of him doubted her and the other part was wary to believe the truth.  
  
He continued to hum out into his dark room, it felt almost silly seeing as he was the only occupant but he didn't stop. His mother used to hum to him when he was younger and needed soothing, she said it was a thing humans did. Keith hoped it would help the Champion too.  
  
It appeared to have an effect as Keith noticed how the Champion’s sobs soon began to quiet down. The man didn't even question it. Keith could only wonder what was going through the other’s mind, whether he thought it was all in his head.  
  
But as soon as Keith stopped his song— “ _Please_ .” Came a desperate whisper and Keith froze, terror in the form of ice coursed through his veins and halted all his movements. The Champion spoke in his human tongue, was Keith found out? Did he really ruin everything?  
  
“ _Don't stop._ ” The Champion said again, but his words were slurred and his movements were lethargic as he tried to roll onto his back.  
  
They both stared up at the dark violet ceiling, “ _Why c-can’t I_ ”—the sight blinked out to pure blackness once and then twice. The Champion was beginning to fall asleep.  
  
“ _Please sing again_.” Keith barely understood what was said as the Champion sloshed through the words. But Keith smiled to himself, a little happy that his song was able to soothe the Champion in some way, that the other enjoyed it. Just this once, Keith silently acquiesced and started his humming once more until the Champion closed his eyes for good.

* * *

 Keith never made direct contact with the Champion after the “singing” incident. Those were special circumstances, but even if he couldn't risk doing something like that again, it didn’t mean he hasn’t linked up to the Champion a few times since then. Link sharing with the Champion was an entirely different experience than simply watching past recordings on a screen. It was almost as if Keith got close and personal to the Champion’s thoughts, submerging his mind deeper into the sights and sounds the other experienced.  
  
Maybe it was the knowledge that what he saw at the moment was happening to the Champion somewhere far across space. In that short click of time, he and the Champion converged together in some tangible way without actually having to engage with one another. Keith understood that he was toeing a fine line with his mission. He was essentially submerging his senses and exposing himself to the Champion’s. What he was doing wasn't unheard of but there was a reason why it wasn't common practice amongst the Blade members. Link sharing to exchange brief moments of information were the main usage: divulging a location when a member was down or perhaps keeping the comms open to speak with the team during a mission were one thing. What he was doing however was dangerous if he were to do so after long periods of time. His mind would be attempting to adjust to the new sights and sounds while it tried to reconcile with the lack of smell, taste, and touch. The brain worked with the information given by these senses and various others, therefore he was tricking his brain into accepting the slew of information that had no place or reason in being there in the first place.  
  
And yet Keith couldn't bring himself to stop which brought a new wave of guilt. What he was doing wasn't any better than watching the Champion go through this on a screen, wasn’t it? In fact, this was probably worse. It was an invasion of the other man’s privacy, obtaining personal information without the permission from the other. What in all the blades was Keith thinking?  
  
He slumped in his seat, he thought if he got to know the Champion a bit better, got a little more closer then maybe in some way he could reach him. The reality of the matter was that the Champion was somewhere Keith would never be able to reach. The human didn't even know Keith existed and he wouldn't be able to rescue the Champion so what was the point?  
  
All he knew now was how terrifying it was to be strapped to the table, unable to move, helpless as the Empire toyed and manipulated his body. How lonely it got, when locked away in the suite, with no one to talk to; just yourself to entertain your thoughts, listen to your musings, and soothe your fears. Unlike Keith who was able to break away when the tension got too much, where he was able to contact someone when loneliness became too unbearable, the Champion didn't have any of that, for him it was one hundred times worse.  
  
And the worst of it all was the fear and rush of being thrown in the arena.  
  
After long periods of being left in the shadows, suddenly there were blinding lights all around him. Before where there was nothing but silence to greet him, there was screeching and hollering from the crowds.  
  
The Champion was led to the center of the arena where he was confronted by another hulking alien towering over him. They stood on two legs, but their feet were houve-like. Their thighs, chest, and biceps were bulked up muscle, strong enough to lift the giant club in their hand. They were matted with thick brown fur and had a long snout that did nothing to hide their sharp teeth.  
  
The anticipation would have been deafening if not for the crowd and their jeers dripping with venom hoping to see if today was the day the Champion would fall. Keith laid in his bed, safe and sound, watching as the Champion’s life was at risk once again. His hands curled into the sheets to hold off his tremors but what truly eased him was each of the steady breaths that the Champion took.  
  
The blaring sound of a horn marked the beginning of the fight and the Champion surged forward.  
  
Keith had seen the Champion fight many battles, he was continuously impressed with the way the human moved and dodged from his opponents. There was power and purpose with each movement he took and he made it seem effortless. He always managed to play up all his strengths and even used his weaknesses to his advantage. He indeed was a formidable opponent.  
  
But that didn't mean the alien that he was up against made it easy for him. They obviously had sheer muscle and strength on their side on top of a raging temper who favored the tactic of using brutal force.  
  
They were many times Keith wanted to call out when he was about to be hit but he kept his mouth shut, he couldn't compromise the mission. And yet he still kept his focus peeled for any openings and possible incoming attacks.  
  
The Champion had managed to blind the alien in one of their eyes and tear through the tendons in their left foot making it harder to dodge appropriately, however the Champion didn't give himself enough time to step away before he was thrown back by a swing of a club.  
  
He skid across the ground. The Champion took in heaps amount of air, the crowd shouting with cruel glee, foaming at the mouth of seeing the Champion’s demise. The Champion managed to pull back his weapon when he was swung away but it laid useless and limp in the man’s left hand.  
  
Keith tasted iron in his mouth as he bit through his lip. Why wasn't the Champion getting up? The alien was gearing up to charge, the human needed to move.  
  
They both could hear the thundering footsteps of the opponent, the Champion groaned and Keith could only watch with horror as the man titled his head to the side, eyeing his right hand that tried to push himself upward.  
  
Keith silently called out, eyes wide with fear.  
  
_No damn it keep your eye on your enemy._ __  
__  
_Champion get up._ __  
__  
_You have to move!_  
  
_Fuck—_  
  
“FUCK!” Cried the Champion along with a blood curdling scream, the sound itself was pure agony but it was nothing in comparison to the arm that the alien crushed thoroughly with its houve. Keith heard the crackling of bones and watched with sickening terror, at the squelch of blood, muscles and tendons bursting through the horrid mess.  
  
Keith was shocked by both pain and fear, deafened by the piercing ringing in his ears and clutching his right arm as everything went black. He fell off the bed, curling into himself as he dry heaved on the ground. There was a sharp jolt in his right arm as his nerves buzzed in a confused and frenzied haywire. He held his arm up to eye-level to see that it was still there, but it wouldn't stop shaking and it didn't help settle Keith’s double vision. That was—that felt—too real. But it didn't happen, not to him, no, to the Champion. He—he was—the Champion—Keith couldn’t breathe.

The Champion’s screaming wouldn't stop echoing in his mind. He could still see all the blood. Another thrum of pain ran down his arm. Why wouldn't it stop shaking?  
  
He was going to be sick. He let out another heave.  
  
The Champion… his arm… it was gone. He saw it, he thought he felt it. He couldn't possibly imagine what that must've really felt like.  
  
He should have said something to the man.  
  
He threw up all over his floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh yeah...ouch.
> 
> (Sorry Shiro).


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro finally accepts all the shit life has thrown at him.
> 
> He also gets a startling shout out.

God, oh fuck everything hurt and everything spun in a whirlwind and there wasn't any stable figure Shiro was able to focus on when he was surrounded by a flurry of motion.

Shiro wasn’t sure what was going on but the pain… The pain was loud, his nerves on fire and screaming at him, and it was all very nerve wracking. They kept yelling at him to focus on his arm—

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. _His_ _arm_.

What the fuck happened?

The doctors stood overhead, the Druid was there as well, and one more figure he didn't recognize; a short Galra, fully covered in a robe that hid their face. They appeared to be the boss of the rest as everyone stood in attention waiting for their orders.

He could hear the smallest figure rasping directions but it was muddled and he couldn't understand. It was as if his head was dunked underwater. Perhaps it was all the blood rushing to his head, drowning him in his own mind.  
  
They pulled and tugged on his right arm, pushed his head back, the small Galran then reached over him with their long, bony fingers tainted in blue, but why the fuck did that matter when they were placing a gas mask over his face. No, he didn't want to be put under. He whimpered and the small Galran paused, he gazed at them with wild desperation.  
  
“Please let me die,” he wheezed but they didn't understand his words. They never fucking understood, they never bothered to listen.  
  
“Please. I-I can't take it anymore.” He was so tired. Of the pain, of the sorrow and the loss. They took everything from him:

His team.  
  
His dream.  
  
His fucking arm. _Fuck_. What more could they want from him?

Everything continued to spin, leaving him disoriented. The edges of his vision were fuzzy as his eyelids grew heavy. The colors buzzed around, dripping and smearing over each other.

He was so tired. Why couldn’t they just let him finally rest?

“ _Please I just want to die._ ”

* * *

 His waking was a slow, dragging process. His body ached and still weighed heavy—from sleep? Coma? He felt like he was bludgeoned head to toe yet he couldn't seem to recall what would have caused him to be in this state, the pressure in his head was too distracting and where the soreness that came from cramped, overworked muscles felt natural, the way his limbs seemed to sink further into the bed he just now realized he laid on was not.

Was he drugged? That was the only explanation he could come to but it hurt to even think of the why, the what, and the how of whatever the hell happened to him.  
  
There were other muffled sounds but he was able to ignore that for the most part. It was the light that wouldn’t let him be as it burned incessantly through his eyelids, their beams of whatever he could see performed an impressionistic dance across the slit of eyes.  
  
He wanted to throw up.  
  
Instead he passed out again.

* * *

He fully regained consciousness to a series of beeps, the clacking of medical instruments, and the indiscernible chatter all around; a mess of howls, yips, and barks but he didn't bother trying to understand what it all meant.

What he did know was that he was back in the lab with the Druid and doctors. This would explain why everything hurt while he still felt numb at the same time.  
  
The only distinct sensation he felt at the moment was at a certain point in his right arm, it felt cold and it was beginning to hurt to the point that it burned.  
  
It seemed that his tracking of time was skewed as well, by the time he realized it, the Druid and the small Galran were gone. As well as the doctors save for one. The uncomfortably nice one.  
  
The Galran doctor with him now was the less cruel of the three that usually attended to him. His skin a soft shade of periwinkle, with pale hair, who was soft spoken and acted kindly to him for reasons he still could not comprehend (some part of him did not want to). It didn't really put him at ease, in fact he sort of wanted to ask the doctor if he could kindly shut the fuck up.  
  
"You are a strong young man, I'm sorry that this has happened to you and I would have never wish this upon you.” The doctors checked the machines behind him that monitored his condition. “There was nothing that could have been done with your arm. We’ve done the best that we could. Recovery will be tough but I know you are more than capable.”  
  
“What?” Shiro croaked, his throat dry, sore and unused. His arm? What did he mean by that? There was nothing wrong with his arm, he couldn't feel anything wrong with it.  
  
He couldn't feel–  
  
Shiro glowered, ignoring the waves of nausea simmering in his stomach. “What happened to my arm?”  
  
The doctor seemed understandably perturbed but experienced in delivering all sorts of news, explaining with a slight shake to his voice, “you were in battle at the arena, you managed to defeat your opponent but your victory came at a cost. We did what we could and offered you the best replacement for your loss.”  
  
Shiro grit his teeth, “Cost? Replacement for my loss?” Sure, he was having a hard time of processing the news but he felt he was at least a little entitled because this situation was just full of shit. “How? What did you do?”  
  
And how could forget the famous last question as it begged again to be answered. Wanting all the attention. How, how, how?  
  
“Your opponent, with their foot, crushed your arm completely. Managing to sever three-fourths of the way through. There was no way of salvaging it, we had to amputate—”  
  
Arm. Crushed. Severed. Amputate.  
  
Amputate.  
  
_Amputate_.  
  
His goddamn _arm_.  
  
“—but you'll live. I know it's cruel but you have your left and we already have you prepared to be outfitted with a prosthetic. Trust me this is not the end, you will—hey are you alright?”  
  
He couldn't hear anything else over the sound of his own hyperventilation but by the time he could get grips on his panic attack, the doctor had sedated him once more.

* * *

 Afterwards, when he was conscious again, when he still laid on the operating table—mind numbingly stupid and dull after the procedure—when "amputate" was a cruel joke and “replacement for your loss” was the terrible punchline did he find a semblance of manic patience and laughed. A sound sharp enough to bite its way out of the agony.  
  
Back in his cell, Shiro, flushed with delirium and burning white fevers, was able to reflect just how fucking hilarious his life was. Those episodic hot flashes that replayed behind his eyelids, the moments that were most surreal and sadistic because it never wanted him to forget so they seared themselves permanently there. But it never made him more aware of how his situation was just so hysterical. Circumstances that made Shiro laugh so hard he almost cried.  
  
He staggered into his bathroom and let out a breathless chuckle when he saw that they actually replaced the mirror. He tore up and bloodied his hand when he punched it and they replaced the fucking thing. He eyed the stump attached to the prosthetic through the mirror, detached as he could get with a reflection. He could see the red, puffy criss cross marks, like abusive kisses along the seam, and felt the dead weight of cold metal trying to drag him down, prevent him from moving on. Because the nightmares were a reality that didn't bother to lurk in shadows anymore, instead coming at him in hot flashes and bright sounds that blinded him from seeing hope again.  
  
Memories coming from a pit of ruinous things that could deeply wound a person, maim them some and leave them for the kill.  
  
But if his nightmares wouldn't show him death then he could at least dream of it.

* * *

Rehabilitation was hell.

And he was so fucking over his shit hand, his shit luck, and whatever shit deal he signed with the cosmic universe that he’d curse it to every single fucking hell that existed with a colorful tongue. Propriety be damned, he didn't give a fucking shit.  
  
What made it hell was how _easy_ it was. The betrayal he felt with how his own body would be willing to accept a foreign intruder, a parasite. But the transition was over and done with before Shiro could even get a word in, while the insidious machinery with its’ sibilant tongue and the violet hums whispered to him, inching closer trying to coax Shiro to submit.    
  
Perhaps the assimilation was only made possible because of all the experimentation they had done on him. He understood what they were doing; the injections, the tests, the time spent going under unsure if it would be for the last time, maybe all of that was in preparation for this final moment.  
  
Shiro soon learned that his new arm was not only a parasite, it was also weapon. They equipped him with a weapon so that he could be thrown back into the arena. Shiro could never reconcile with the fact that they put so much time and resources into him only to throw him back into potential danger, especially after the last time. But he had a feeling they were anticipating the moment where the beast they molded into him would leak through the cracks of his shell and prove their experiment a success.  
  
The success that would make him their real Champion.  
  
Even as their winning gladiator he still wasn't good enough. They wanted a Champion but his borrowed time was up so they carved him out and filled him with something that was faster, stronger, until he had the stamina and endurance to allow him to fight and suffer through the torture longer. Filled him with a beast so much like him that it never knew weakness because as a human he only knew how to be strong.  
  
Just like the opponent in front of him who was of similar height and build, however their skin was grey in tone, their head oval shaped but stretched long with their jaw jutting out, and their muscles bulged out slightly more than his own.  
  
They seemed to possess profound strength and an astounding agility that made it hard to land hits. The other used a spear as a weapon but and managed to scrape a sliver on his side.  
  
When his opponent attempted to thrust the spearhead aimed at his shoulder, his enhanced reaction time proved itself useful as he managed one step back, pivoting his left foot to angle his body out of the way. What was really impressive was how his prosthetic arm shot out and snagged a hold onto the spear. Even more so when it lit up purple, vibrating to life with foreign energy. Both of them were so alarmed that when Shiro let go of the spear his opponent almost lost his grip as well.  
  
Shiro inspected the arm with both awe and trepidation. What could the Galra have ever hoped to gain from installing such a thing onto him? Why choose him to forge into their weapon?  
  
Any further contemplation was short lived as his attacker recovered from the surprise and attempted another jab at him, with more aggression and force behind it this time. It appeared the other wasn’t going to take any chances against his freakish arm.

The fighter refused to back down but neither did Shiro. He never could handle losing any fight, anywhere. He always had to prove he was strong, that he was worth it, he had to because even before his capture there was still all the other shit life had thrown at him; as early on as when doctors gave him an early expiration date, told him he was spoiled goods. He had quickly caught on that it meant he would have to work twice as hard, make himself look twice as enticing that it distracted everyone from noticing his end date.

Shiro dodged another swing of the spear and surged forward as close as he could get to his opponent, with his weaponized arm he grabbed onto the other’s wrist hearing the sizzle as his hand burnt their skin off along with their shrieks of pain.  
  
They dropped their spear but only in order to free their other hand to push Shiro off. When he didn't relent they resorted to punching, smacking, and kicking him in a feral frenzy, hollering out their rage. Shiro was able to block enough hits with his flesh arm but soon enough the other pushed through and wrapped their hand around Shiro’s throat, squeezing with relentless force. The sudden lack of oxygen caused Shiro to let go, it wasn't worth the risk of suffocation. However that gave the other gladiator a chance to clamp both hands on him, lifting and spinning him around with enough momentum to throw him a good fifteen feet away.  
  
Shiro clasped his throat, kneeling on the ground and trying to regain his breath. He had to get up soon or else it would be all over.

The realization had Shiro hesitate; maybe it was for the best that he stopped fighting. It could all end here, the pain and trauma would finally be over. But then why did the thought had Shiro’s heart beat wildly in his chest? Why would his body ante up the adrenaline? This was the perfect opportunity to finally be out to rest, to leave everything behind, and it would be so easy too…

So why was he still afraid?

Fighting. It was the one thing he ever allowed to hoard for himself, that one selfish obsession. He fought for his right to be a space explorer, he fought for his worth, and he would continue to fight for his life. Even if he burned himself inside out just to keep on going for that one purpose. He wanted to live and he wanted it bad. He wanted to live life before he had to give it up.

And if he had fought for that, he could fight for this. He’d fight for the Champion. Fight for his inner beast that if he needed to, he’d killed every bit of himself just to keep living.  
  
He wouldn't let this be the end.  
  
Not even when monsters became real like the one in front of him or the ones waiting for him back at the lab. Real as blood and death, fear and despair, and the screams of terror.  
  
That’s why by the end of his morbid story—where the protagonist was a wretched fool and their life sucks and they’d probably die—he would laugh again. Because he’d fight this.  
  
Because he refused to continue to shed anymore more tears over this. He was tired of the despair and tired of fearing the monsters that lurked in the shadows of his nightmares.

He would get up and fight.

Especially when the real monsters were still out there.  
  
“ _GET UP AND WATCH YOUR LEFT!_ ”  
  
What in the—  
  
He caught out of his peripheral, as a spear shot towards him, the warning gave him a chance to roll away.  
  
However it didn't give him a chance to come to terms with what just happened. Where did that voice come from? He glanced around the arena, shifting back and forth across the roaring crowds but it sounded too close to be from any of them.  
  
He must be finally losing it because it sounded like it came from inside his head. But how was that possible? Was it an additional feature the Galra implanted him with alongside the new arm?  
  
He anticipated the inklings of panic as he entered a state of hyper awareness, all the noises around him were suddenly muted, save for the blood thundering in his ears and that strange voice. What the hell did they do to him?  
  
“W-who are you?” He called out eyes shifting wildly around him as if he would somehow find the answer around him. “Where are you coming from?”  
  
His immediate response was a frustrated groan. _“Listen there’s no time to explain that right now because you're in the middle of a_ fucking _fight okay? You need to take some steps back, go now!”_  
  
Shiro stumbled backwards more or less following the order. Too stunned at the mysterious voice’s choice of words. He spoke in generic Galran but the word, “fucking” was pronounced in English, a human word.

His heart rate sped up. Who was this guy?  
  
“ _Okay I'm going to open up the other features of the Zel so—uh don't freak out._ ” That was the only warning Shiro got as his entire vision exploded with a field of information. He caught sight of his opponent and his vision locked onto them. Shiro’s lungs were burning up all the oxygen in them and he couldn’t seem to pull another breath in. His eyes were suddenly filled with symbols and he didn't even know how that could even be, but they showed signs of tracking the fighter right over his vision as if this were a game simulation.  
  
His chest was locking down on him. This couldn't possibly be real.  
  
“ _Champion you need to calm down and you need to focus or we’ll have a repeat of the last fight._ ”  
  
Shiro automatically glanced down at the prosthetic arm. This person knew of that fight somehow. Were they watching him? With his eyes?  
  
He felt the rising of fire hot anger. “Why should I listen to you?” He shouted, he didn't care if it looked like he was going mad, maybe he was. “I don't know who the _fuck_ —” he made a big emphasis on fuck, “—you are. You somehow hijacked my eyesight and now all this freaky stuff is happening and you want me to be okay with that? Who the fuck are you?”  
  
“ _Keith_.” The voice stated, stern and to the point. Shiro’s anger faltered for a second. He didn’t think the voice would actually answer him.

He would never imagine such a ordinary name (a disconcertingly human name) for the voice either.

He sputtered as his ears crackled over the sound of other’s impatient grunt.

“ _My name is Keith and if you don't get back to the fight soon, you're gonna die._ ”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the breaks in updates. I’m just all over the place in RL. 
> 
> Bear with me. I hope you guys are enjoying nonetheless!


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